


Ink

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: Varric can't resist a good bit of ink on a nice canvas.
Relationships: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Ink

Varric is keeping a watch. Honestly, he is. It's not his fault his eyes keep shifting back to the Inquisitor. Varric's always known he's had a weakness for tattoos, for the sight of ink on skin. The Inquisitor is Carta. He knew that, knew the probable implication. He just hadn't seen this much of her till today.

"You alright there?"

He isn't going to look. He's on guard, making sure they don't get jumped as they wash up after a skirmish that involved some magic that, well, suffice it to say there was a lot of blood everywhere and leave it at that. Cadash kept a watch while he cleaned up, he can manage to do the same. "I'm fine."

She seems to be reassured as she makes her way up the shore. He makes the mistake of looking. He's done this before, how many times in Kirkwall was he presented with naked teammates as they cleaned up? He's lost count and not once did he have a problem. Her though...

It's the ink. Swirling bands of black that run across her body, striking jagged edges of Dwarven styled marking in counterpoint to the almost elven looking swirls, names and runes etched in gaps between the patterns. The water glistening over them as it creates little rivulets across the ink.

He aches to run his fingers over them, to find the story written on the living canvas.

"Are you sure you're fine?" She's in front of him, one hand resting on a cocked hip, uncaring about her nudity. She's also too used to missions and jobs that don't give privacy for washing. Not as if anyone in the Carta would try to jump her he thinks, she'd probably gut them while still naked.

He has to clear his throat. "I'm sure."

She hums lightly, turning to pick up her clothing and he gets a great view of the tattoos across her ass and down the back of her thighs as she bends then strides back up the riverbank to the camp they've set up.

He needs to think of something else.

Anything else.

Dorian whistles when she appears and she doesn't mind as he slowly reaches out to run a hand along one arm. "Bet they took a while," he sounds impressed as she flexes, the muscle contracting and giving the ink the appearance of shifting with every movement.

Varric is not jealous. Not a bit. He doesn't want to put one of Bianca's bolts through the mages hand.

He totally does want to.

"A few years," she says, twisting to show off one hip, "still got a bit of space to finish filling in."

"Maybe you can put in there that Dorian is your best friend and favourite Tevinter mage."

"You're the only Tevinter mage I know, apart from Alexius," she points out rather dryly.

"All the more reason to commemorate that fact then."

Varric ducks into his tent, propping Bianca in her usual spot and sinking to his knees on his bedroll. He is so utterly fucked. He's not going to be able to get rid of that image. (Not that he really wants to if he's entirely honest with himself).

"Not like you to go hide, you're not injured or anything are you? I don't need to go find the healing potions?" The clothing is dumped onto her bedroll.

The only thing he's hiding right now is the fact that his breeches are far too tight and he'd really like her to put some clothing on. "I'm not injured. Just a little tired."

"If you're sure then," she says, voice muffled slightly as she pulls her shirt on.

He nods, "I'll have a quick nap, you go talk."

When he glanced round a minute later as she leaves it's to the sight of well worn leather and metal. He can still imagine the patterns underneath but it's a huge improvement.

It's a huge disappointment, the traitorous side of his brain whispers.

\-----

He's almost managed to forget after a few days at Skyhold, burying himself in a new manuscript. He remembers when he calls for somebody to enter after a knock and doesn't look up and the first thing he sees are two muscular tattooed arms on either side of his writing.

"I've had an idea."

Varric pushes himself and his chair away from his desk to put a bit of space between himself and temptation before he looks up. "That's dangerous."

She laughs, standing up and leaning a hip against the solid wood table. Her short sleeved shirt clinging to her in ways that leave little to his imagination. He can already see the swirling lines in his mind, how they mesh and contrast with the wood grain. "Potentially."

"So, do enlighten me," he prods after a moment.

She smiles, pushing away from the desk. He has a moment to think she's going to talk of a new mission, to change to the no nonsense commander she's shaping up to be. That moment never arrives as he presses his back against the solid wooden back of his chair and tries to keep his eyes up.

"The fuck?" He manages, in a rather strangled tone as his vision inevitably drifts down to one tattooed shoulder. Her weight is warm on his lap. Her shirt abandoned round the other side of the desk.

"You've been sneaking glances, I thought it might be easier if I give you a close up look." There's no hiding his reaction to that. Not when she's sitting where she is. She reaches out to one of his hands that he's still keeping firmly to himself and places it on her skin. "I got them to be admired, not to be hidden away."

His thumb traces over one swirling line before he can stop it. She smiles, the same way she does after a fight she's won.

Varric chuckles, his other hand settling on warm skin as he traces over lines under her skin. As propositions go, he’s never had one quite so bold. Nor has he ever had one that he’d regret turning down as much as he would this. “You’re still hiding half of them,” his mouth points out without input from his brain. That was not what he was going to say. He was going to regretfully turn her down, move his hands off the enticing canvas before he touched anymore.

She stands, hauling him up and all but towing him to his own bed. Well, she would be dragging him. If not for the fact his feet are eager enough on their own. Tomorrow’s Varric can deal with any potential fallout from accepting. Right now he’s got a canvas waiting for him to look at and he intends to get a very close look indeed.


End file.
